Should Have Known
by isnt-it-pretty
Summary: Is this what dying feels like? Probably, considering that's what was happening. It would be ironic, after all the risks he took, to die like this. A drug overdose on his apartment floor. (Modern take on Thom's death)


**All rights to proper owners**

 **I've been playing with this concept for awhile now. I thought about writing it was a full story, but decided against it. I may come back and write more for this AU, but for now, this is it. I read thorugh this but I don't have a beta reader, so please let me know if there's any spelling or grammar mistakes.**

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He isn't sure how it got this far. When it went from nights spent with Roger - a little something to help his focus, or relax after a long day - to this.

He isn't sure how nobody noticed. Maybe it's because Alanna was gone; traveling the world and searching for adventure. Maybe it's because people simply didn't want to see. He wouldn't blame them, couldn't blame them. Not when he couldn't leave well enough alone, not when he never made an effort to befriend them.

His body shook, running a fever that even the best doctors could do nothing for. He was too hot, and too cold. Skin soaked with sweat, eyes blurred. The pain twisted his limbs, churning his stomach, he was shaking. Is this what dying feels like? Probably, considering that's what was happening. It would be ironic, after all the risks he took, to die like this. A drug overdose on his apartment floor.

Alanna was probably on her way, worried by his vague phone call about Roger. His heart tugged. She had only just gotten back, was probably out with friends. He couldn't even remember what he'd said to her, but he hoped he'd warned her. Roger was ruthless and manipulative, and he hated Alanna. It was a wonder that it took Thom as long as it did to realize he was being used.

Years of concentration, effort and control, amounted to nothing when Roger was around. He should have known better. Should have known the man was trouble, ever since Alanna first called him about it. Her wealthy friend's cousin, the man far more interested in Jon's wealth than the boy himself. Thom should have seen through Roger's act. Should have known he was nothing but a pawn. It didn't matter what he did, it wasn't like anybody would care about him, least of all not Roger. Who would bother with him, when his sister was who she was? Who would spare him a moments thought? Roger did, and he should have known better.

His phone rang again, he had lost track of how many calls he'd missed. Thom found himself wondering if they were all from his sister, probably not. No doubt she would have called Coram by then.

He found himself hoping he'd be dead by the time she got there, save the last of his dignity. It would break her heart, he thought, to find the used needles and empty bottles of pills strewn about the apartment. She would blame herself for not noticing, not seeing her twin's deteriorating condition - both physical and mental - not connecting it to Roger's return to their lives. Then again, who would ever think that he, Thom, the genius brother of the famous Alanna, would fall so low?

There was a banging on his front door. He couldn't have moved to answer it even if he wanted to, which he didn't. She knew where the spare key was anyways.

He must have blacked out, because next thing he knew, Alanna was at his side shouting frantically into her cell phone.

"Please I need an ambulance. It's my brother," she looked at him. "Thom, oh my god, what did you do?!"

She was fuzzy, as if she wasn't quite there. Her words seemed like they were coming from far away, instead of right in front of him.

"S-Sorry," he stuttered, trying to talk passed his rapid heartbeat.

Alanna was a mess, it was only then that he realize she was cradling him. Was she crying? Yes, of course, they were siblings after all. They loved each other, in fact, she was one of the only things he did love. "I don't know, I don't know what's wrong with him."

She was yelling at him the next moment. "What did you take?! Thom please!" she had a needle in her hand, his needle. He tried to remember, if only for her, but he couldn't. It should have terrified him, his mind was always his greatest asset - his only asset really - but he couldn't find it in himself to be scared; he was dying anyways.

She was shaking him. "Stay awake, Thom you have to stay awake!" It felt like hours, but it couldn't have been, his remaining logic supplied. It had probably only been a half hour since Roger left, fifteen minutes since he called his sister. No longer than five since she arrived, or the ambulance would be there already. Isn't it funny how perception of time changes when a person is dying?

There was a reason she was with him, wasn't there? He had called her, but why? What was so important to tell her? "Roger," he muttered, muscles clenching involuntarily as he remembered. He had warned her, but not enough, he could never describe how dangerous the man really was. He could barely breathe, his thoughts were scattered, it was difficult to talk. "Roger wants you dead," he said at last, gasping for air his lungs refused to take in.

"Thom!" Alanna screamed, her phone was still in her hand. "Please, please hold on, please."

He couldn't, he knew when Roger was helping him load the needle, when he confronted the man, and watched him walk out the door, that it was all over. Somewhere in the distance, he registered the sound of sirens. They wouldn't be there fast enough. "L-love you" he whispered, "always loved you."

Blackness overtook his senses, the last thing he was aware of was his sister's far off screams.

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